Technicolor Dreams

6

I know thy name as well as my own,
Yet thou knowest not a single syllable of mine

I know of thy cohorts,
Of thy passions,
Thy desires,
Yet thou knowest not an inkling of my world

My chance of a glimpse of thee
anon-
Yet not a word escapes my wretchèd being

Thy ebon hair is soft in my eyes,
Tho alas 'tis not a mutual sensation in my fingers

Thy stunning complexion is one I dream to embrace,
To feel thy coarse stubble scrape at my tender cheeks

At the end of my labours,
My mind doth wander,
An idyllic idiot,
For that is what I am
In your stead-
A giddy fool,
Unable to Express my feelings,
In a cruel world

My cornucopia of compassion,
Ravish'd by famine,
My tender words,
Dash'd by our community

Forbidden is my love for thee,
Forbidden from thee,
My love

So much do I want
To caress thy carvèd flesh-
To feel the heat
Of thy divine being-
To feel the threads
Of thy coarse hair betwixt my fingers

A love so inconveniently placed
upon thee-

Thy mere gestures
Make me writhe-

For thou art that which I cannot have,
That which I cannot behold,
Save in my slumbers

Thy pungent fragrance fills my nostrils,
'Tis intoxicating,
Yet I am forbidden to smell it

Thou art a forbidden fruit,
No matter how great my desire,
I cannot pluck thee from thy place,
And savor thee as I so crave

My only requiem of thee,
Is thy presence in my dreams,
Many a sleepless night,
I doth dream of thee

The feel of thy bare body,
Hard press'd against my own,
Yet so cold is the morn,
Without thee

So warm is the room when we are but one being,
A love we doth kindle,
One of crimson passion
Alas,
the pillow is cold,
The bed empty,
Save myself

Thou art forever a touch I will never embrace,
Just as thou shalt never learn a syllable of my name